A/N: Hello! I'm sorry that I'm posting late for the second week in a row. I promise I won't make this a habit! But next week is my spring break, and I have absolutely nothing to do besides sit at home and write, so I'm definitely going to make up for my inability to stay on schedule and reward you guys for being patient. Thank you all for the nice comments and reviews; I love hearing what you have to say and that you're all as invested in this story as I am. It makes it easier and much more fun to write, knowing that other people want to read it.

Please enjoy, and keep an eye out for the next few chapters this weekend and next week!

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS: Los Angeles

Eighteen years old. Skinny with a messy head full of brown curls. Quiet, reserved, and altogether unremarkable except for the fact that he was easy to pick on. The other guys in their pre-law program were already betting on how far that Rickards guy could get before he either failed or dropped out. Deeks kept quiet. He didn't like that they picked on the poor guy, but he also wasn't too keen on being a target, so he didn't say anything.

He already had issues of his own. His mom had up and left the second he turned 18. He'd finished out his last six months of high school, living alone in their tiny apartment. At least she'd paid for the first three months of the year, as usual. It gave Deeks enough time to find a second job in order to cover what she wouldn't be paying from now on. He wasn't surprised that she left. Hell, she could have left years ago. At least she got him this far. The abandonment he should have felt had long since been replaced with bitterness and now, he felt a hollow relief that she had finally left him instead of sticking around to hurl insults and regrets and accusatory looks his way, still blaming him for his father leaving, even 7 years after the fact.

So, no, he did not want to get involved in the immaturity of his classmates. He had other things to worry about.

It was the third week into the first semester of his freshman year. He was still trying to balance out two jobs in addition to class, as well as dealing with the financial aid office, which seemed unable to understand that he had applied as a self-paying student with no parental assistance. Unlike the privileged students eating out of their parents' pockets, Deeks was working for his food and education, and it was such an unusual situation here that the financial aid officers just couldn't see how he had no help.

Deeks was waiting outside of one of his introductory law classes, rereading the chapter that was assigned for that day. The professor hadn't come to unlock the classroom door yet, so he was camped out on the floor with the battered, used textbook open in his lap. He had a blue highlighter in his hand because the person who owned the book before him had used yellow and highlighted the book to nearly its capacity. It was just one of the many small consequences of being financial instable that he was facing. And it was just plain irritating.

Deeks looked up and saw that guy, the Rickards guy, sit down across the hall from him. He pulled his own new copy of the textbook out along with an orange highlighter and proceeded to start meticulously highlighting his book in short, quick strokes of the marker. He looked up and caught Deeks watching and smiled tentatively. Deeks nodded back and looked down at his book.

A few minutes passed and a few more of their classmates showed up. Most of them had made quick friends with each other and stood talking in groups, laughing raucously about some party that weekend. Deeks had gone to a few parties, mostly the first week of school, but found that it just wasn't his scene and while the girls were cute and the beer was free, it was impossible for him to have that kind of social life along with work and school.

"Hey, Deeks, didn't see you there last weekend," one of the guys, Lucas, looked down at Deeks on the floor. He was a bit nicer than the others, but only barely.

"I had to work, man. You know how it is," Deeks replied. Who was he kidding? Lucas probably had no idea how that was.

Lucas and the other guys shrugged and then one turned to Rickards. "I didn't see you there either, Rickards. Have a date with your mommy?"

Rickards' face turned red and he said quietly, "No."

"Well, where were you, then? Stuffed up at home no doubt."

"I was at a surfing competition," Rickards answered, again so quietly you could barely hear him.

"Oooh," all the other guys chorused. They sounded like a pack of wolves. "Did you place last, as usual, or do you actually have some talent?"

Rickards' face went an even deeper shade of red and he opened his mouth to say something. Thankfully, the professor came and unlocked the door, letting the class in and effectively putting a stop to the growing discontent.

The few girls in their class always filed into the front, though one, Chelsea, had set her eyes on Deeks and always sat in front of him. She knew she was beautiful, and chose periodic moments in class to stretch and let her sweater fall off her shoulders, exposing bare tanned skin. It caused all of the men in the class to look at her, even the professor, and Deeks was no exception. He did not, however, pay her any mind when she tried advances beyond that. Today, she seemed to have decided, was the day that she would further those advances. She made a move to sit next to Deeks, but he sat on the end of the row and nodded at Paul, who took the kind gesture and gratefully sat down in the open seat next to him. Chelsea's look of frustration was obvious when she sat down in her usual seat in front of Deeks, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder and huffing in exasperation.

Rickards was still red in the face and his breathing was forcefully controlled. Deeks looked at him out of the corner of his eye, watching as he calmed down. While the professor busied himself at the front of the class, tampering with the computer and the projector screen, Deeks turned to Rickards and asked, "So what place did you get in that surf comp?"

Rickards looked bewildered that anyone had asked him a question and warily, he answered, "Fourth."

"Hey, good job man. Just short of a medal. Which comp were you at?"

"South Venice Beach Regionals."

Deeks nodded. He had heard of that one and a few of his buddies from high school had competed in it. "So you're going on to states? That's really cool."

Rickards' face relaxed a little when he realized Deeks was being genuine and he nodded. "Yeah. States are in October. Do you compete?"

Deeks shook his head, "No, not enough time. I try to get out on the waves as much as possible though. I saved up for that new Channel Islands board for a year."

"Dude, no way. That board is a piece of art," Rickards said. He had perked up now that he was talking about something he knew. The fact that someone was being nice to him probably helped, too.

"I know," Deeks answered. "And the resistance on it is nonexistent. It's like riding on air."

"Shit," Rickards shook his head in admiration. "What I wouldn't give to take a ride on that board."

Deeks stayed quiet for a moment, mulling over where to go from here. It didn't take him long, however, before he said, "I try to get out there in the mornings, if you'd want to try it out sometime."

"Really?" Rickards asked excitedly. Deeks nodded.

The professor had finally gotten the technology up and running and the class was quieting down. Deeks held out his hand and introduced himself, "Marty."

Rickards shook his hand, "I'm Paul."

Paul had filled out since then. His height became much more balanced out with some width in the shoulders, evidence of hard work on a surfboard as well as working on building them, which he started doing his and Deeks' sophomore year. He'd gotten Deeks the job at the surf shack, and they'd been pretty much inseparable ever since. Everyone knew that if you invited Deeks, you always got Paul, and vice versa.

Four years could do a lot to a person, and change was inevitable. Paul became more confident, marginally so. Deeks grew comfortable with the acceptance that his mother would never return for him. He took care of himself, and Paul, when he needed it. Paul's parents separated not long after he left for college, his hotshot lawyer father being the playboy he was. His mother moved across the country to pursue her longtime dreams of becoming a stage actress. Paul was the youngest, and he took the divorce personally as his fault. His older sisters were happily settled in at law firms, the oldest having just gotten engaged upon his graduation from high school. His self-esteem was hit hard and Deeks was there to pick up the pieces.

Four years definitely changed a person, and Deeks and Paul had faced the triumphs and pitfalls that growing up in college led to, and they'd been each other's anchors through it all. Grad school had rolled around and it seemed so natural to keep going the way they were going. After all, their university's program was almost exclusively a fast track and the pre-law students continued through the law program, so most had stuck around, Lucas (much nicer after 4 years), Chelsea (Deeks slept with her once their sophomore year, and they were now friends) and all. They'd all be graduating for good come May, off to work in power law firms and internships.

Deeks wondered if his irritation with Paul was less about Kensi and more about the stress that was being pushed on them in their last year. Professors and advisors were constantly telling them they needed to look for jobs and fill out applications and make connections. Mixers with powerful lawyers were set up every few weeks and they were urged to go. Deeks himself didn't know what he wanted. He didn't like the thought of becoming a powerful attorney or someone who did it all for the money. He wanted to help people, and public defender seemed to fit that goal. Paul's expectations, on the other hand, were pretty high. He felt that he had to live up to his father and sisters' reputations and opening his own firm was the way to do that, in his eyes.

Maybe, Deeks thought, they were just becoming different people. They wanted different things, and the argument and jealousy over this one girl, who honestly didn't seem interested in either of them, was possibly just the breaking point.

Deeks was working the surf shack one afternoon, having just been handed the keys by Paul. It was a week and half after the incident in the quad, and they still weren't speaking. Paul had texted Deeks the day after, not quite apologizing, but acknowledging his fault. Deeks was still angry at that point and didn't respond. He justified leaving Paul hanging as his way of instilling some sort of resilience in his friend. And they were still friends, just friends who were going through a rough patch. It was normal, right?

It was early afternoon, so the beach was fairly quiet with only a young family playing in the shallows and a few surfers getting in some exercise. Mid-September was fast approaching, meaning the arrival of wannabes and beach bunnies, a high time for the business, but hellish for the employees. Deeks was enjoying the last few days of peace and quiet before the crowds.

"No way," a voice echoed from the parking lot, "You were right!"

Deeks looked over and saw that it was Kensi's friend, Monica, stepping out of the driver's side of an old, and very small, silver Lexus. She had on a pair of sunglasses and was adjusting her sundress. She obviously didn't know how loud she was being, because she didn't even notice that Deeks had noticed.

Surprisingly and yet, not so surprising at all, Kensi stepped out of the passenger side. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, the curls dropping down her back. The wind had picked up in the past few days, stirring up the heat that lingered. Rain was forecasted for that night and the next day, promising relief from the humidity and heat. The breeze lifted some strands from her ponytail and blew them over her shoulder. She was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, and Deeks could see the straps of a bikini tied around her neck.

She looked over and squinted in his direction. Deeks looked out over the water, mulling over what to do or say. He didn't have to make a decision however, when Monica started striding across the sand towards him. Kensi lingered behind, and then slowly followed her friend.

She was still a few yards behind Monica when her friend reached the counter. "Hi," she said briskly.

"Hi," Deeks replied warily. He wasn't sure how to deal with the apparent force of nature that was Monica. In his brief encounter with her, she'd been less than friendly to him, but he knew the reason for that. "What can I do for you?"

Monica slipped her sunglasses over her head, pushing back her hair. She looked at the menu thoughtfully and then turned to Kensi, who came up behind her. She was ignoring Deeks.

"What sounds good?"

"The smoothie's really good," Kensi offered flatly. She was clearly not pleased to be at the beach. Or maybe just this beach in particular. "The lime-raspberry one."

"Okay, we'll have two of those. Medium. And…Kensi, didn't you say on the way over that you were hungry?" Monica looked at Kensi, who was averting her eyes from the surf shack. She was watching the family on the edge of the water.

"I'm pretty sure I didn't," she replied. "Maybe it was you." Deeks did not miss the look Kensi shot her friend's way. Monica seemed unfazed.

"No, I mean, I wasn't. But now I am," Monica looked at the menu and then at Deeks, "Can you give me a minute?"

"No problem," Deeks pushed away from the counter and began to make the smoothies. "Milk?" He asked over his shoulder.

"No," both girls said in unison. Deeks turned back to his work.

He heard Kensi sigh deeply behind him and then, "I'm going to go do what we could have gone to any other beach to do."

Monica's reply was cheery, but there was an edge to it, "Okay. Tell me if you want anything."

Deeks turned to see Kensi walking away across the beach. Monica watched her for a moment, shook her head, and turned back to Deeks. He raised an eyebrow and Monica held up a hand, silently telling him not to ask.

"She'll come around," She said.

Deeks looked at her questioningly.

"You gotta tell her sorry first," Monica prodded.

"I plan on it...Are you trying to help me?"

"Not exactly," Monica said, hopping up on a stool at the counter. "I'm just…moving things along." At Deeks' raised eyebrow, Monica sighed and said, "That thing in the quad, whatever it was, was the first time in the past year that I've seen Kensi get worked up about anything. She's been 'fine, just fine' for eight months and then she got angry." She said the last part in wonderment and excitement, as if it were an achievement.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Deeks told her.

"You made Kensi Blye show emotion, which is not an easy feat," Monica explained. "She went through some stuff last year—I won't tell you what, it's not mine to tell—but it made her completely closed off, even to me. And here you come, getting her so worked up that she storms away. Seriously, consider it an achievement."

Deeks was still confused, "Uh…thanks?"

"No, thank you. Of course, she's back to her emotionally suppressed self, but when she mentioned that she saw you here on the first day of classes, I thought we might come down to get some sun now that the heat is finally blowing off. And so I could give you a chance to apologize."

Deeks capped the girls' drinks and slid them across the counter to Monica. She reached into her purse but Deeks held up a hand, "It's on the house." He sat down on the stool on his side of the counter. "I'm still confused what you want from me, though. I pretty effectively made her hate me."

Monica looked at him with a sly smile. "See? That right there confirms that I knew you were a good guy. You just said something really stupid, didn't you?"

Deeks nodded. "Yeah, I have a habit of that apparently," he said, bitterness tinging his tone at the memory of Paul's accusations.

"It doesn't have to be a habit," Monica said brightly. "Here's the thing: I think Kensi needs to meet people and get out and experience life. I don't want her to miss out on our last year of college and I think you might be the key to that. All you have to do is apologize. I'll take it from there."

"You don't think she might take offense to her life being meddled with? Besides, I have the feeling she's gonna be a little harder to bring around," Deeks said ruefully, looking at where Kensi was standing a few hundred yards away. She had her hands on her hips and was watching the water.

Monica followed his gaze and narrowed her eyes. "I just want her to be happy. Kensi's been through a lot. She's …complicated."

"Aren't we all complicated?" Deeks replied, thinking about his own problems with his friend.

"Please, I know complicated," Monica scoffed, and then she added, partly to herself, "It's never anything you can't fix, though." More brightly, she said, "And I think you can help me break through Kensi's walls."

Deeks took a breath. He wanted to get to know her, this mysterious and beautiful girl. He did not, however, want to play a part in her friend's scheming or meddling or whatever it was. He had a feeling Kensi might resent both of them in that case.

"So," Monica said, changing the subject before Deeks could protest, "Where are you from, Marty Deeks?"

The switch in topic threw Deeks a little bit. His law training—and his gut— told him that she did it on purpose so he wouldn't have a chance to back down. "Reseda," he answered slowly. "You?"

Recognition lit Monica's eyes and she smiled, "Me too! I grew up in the apartments off of Arminta and Wilbur."

Now it was Deeks' turn to smile, "So you went to Blythe Street? I lived on Elkwood."

"Oh, my God, yes! Did you have that teacher, what's his name…Mr. Howardson?"

Deeks laughed, "Oh, my God. Fourth grade with Mr. Howardson. Those damn multiplication tables."

"Fourth grade was the worst year of my life," Monica groaned. "So you went to Cleveland High? It's weird, I thought I would have remembered you."

"Nope. We moved when I was eleven. I ended up at Reseda instead."

"I see. Well, that's pretty cool. It's rare to meet someone from Reseda in this area. Not exactly the type to go here, you know?"

Deeks nodded, "Yeah, I know all too well."

Monica's lips pressed together in a line. Reseda was not known for its affluence, and the fact that anyone from that neighborhood was able to go to a private school and earn a law degree was something that some people praised him for, and something that got him judgmental looks and snide comments.

"You're a law student, right?" Monica asked. "Did you win that fast-track scholarship?"

Deeks nodded. He had won a statewide scholarship competition for poverty level students. It was nearly the whole year's tuition for the first year, and half for the years after, as long as the student entered the fast track program. Of course, to Deeks, it was a done deal. There was no way he was going to stay in Reseda and go down the same path as his parents.

"Did you?" Deeks asked.

Monica shook her head. "Nope. Someone else beat me out. Half ride on my own merit, thank you very much." She brushed off her shoulder in a mock show of pride and then grinned at Deeks, who was smiling back. "I'm doing Psychology and Criminology. But lawyer is the dream."

"Will you stay here next year, then? Go to the Law school?"

"I'm still thinking about it. You're probably the only person who can understand it when I say that it's just too much money."

Deeks nodded grimly, at a loss for words.

Monica looked over her shoulder at where Kensi was still standing, impatiently waiting for her smoothie. "I better get some sugar in her before she withers away," she said dramatically.

Deeks laughed. "Hey, it was nice talking to you without you yelling at me."

"I didn't yell at you. I'd say it was more of a scolding," Monica said defensively. Then her lips curled into a wry smile, "Don't worry about Kensi. She'll come around."

"You think?" Deeks was still hesitant to make any promises.

"I know. Just give her time. And tell her you're sorry!" Monica said over her shoulder as she walked away, the smoothies in hand.

Deeks watched her go and wondered just how he'd gotten himself into this, whatever this was.